


dependence on insanity

by pinkberrygeek



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou-centric, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Birds of Prey AU, Darkfic, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Bokuto, Suicide Squad AU, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, evil bokuto and akaashi, except kageyama he's a baby lol, possessive akaashi, some smut, very toxic pls read at your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkberrygeek/pseuds/pinkberrygeek
Summary: It had been two months since Akaashi had been thrown out. Tossed unceremoniously onto the sidewalk like a bag of garbage, to be picked up and taken to the dump.Two whole months, since he had been forcibly removed from Bokuto’s side kicking and screaming (all because of an assassination attempt which had nearly succeeded) (all because Akaashi had failed to keep Bokuto safe).No emails, no text messages, no phone calls.They hadn’t even allowed him to say goodbye.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 213





	dependence on insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Watching birds of prey resulted in me writing this very self-indulgent fic while drunk on Valentine's Day. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! TOXIC BOKUAKA!!!!  
> also i do NOT stan joker/harley quinn due to the abuse joker inflicts on harley canonically in the comics  
> bokuto in this story does not abuse akaashi physically or mentally!!!  
> they are, simply, very dependant on each other. toxic breakups and toxic relationships are things very familiar to me and i wanted to explore that with bokuaka, i hope you guys can forgive me  
> *dodges bricks* I AM SORRY

♚

It had been two months since Akaashi had been thrown out. Tossed unceremoniously onto the sidewalk like a bag of garbage, to be picked up and taken to the dump.

Two whole months, since he had been forcibly removed from Bokuto’s side kicking and screaming (all because of an assassination attempt which had _nearly_ succeeded) (all because Akaashi had failed to keep Bokuto safe).

No emails, no text messages, no phone calls.

They hadn’t even allowed him to say goodbye.

♚

A week later, he finally receives a message.

**BK: Don’t come back.**

**BK: It’s over.**

And Akaashi doesn’t.

♚

With no money, no resources to speak of and no friends to take him in, Akaashi had little option but to _pretend_ , pretend like everything was fine and pretend that the Fukurodani family hadn’t all but deserted him.

Akaashi frequented different clubs every night, meeting new people, all kinds of people who’d either heard of him (“Oh shit, you’re Bokuto’s, aren’t you?”) and wanted to make connections with someone they _thought_ was still attached to the notorious crime syndicate… or wanted him dead.

While the latter was displeasing, Akaashi disliked the first kind way more.

The second type of person was easier to deal with. A quick punch, dropkick and crack of the neck rendered them unconscious (or dead, if he wasn’t careful) (oops?) and one less problem for the rest of the night.

Trying to keep up pretences for the rest of his drunken haze that he still _was_ Bokuto’s, that they still slept in the same bed, was way worse. He knew that while Fukurodani hadn’t made this new information public yet, people _were_ going to find out, one way or another. He was a pathetic shell of his old self, trying to live vicariously through old memories and hanging off the last vestiges of Bokuto’s family name to preserve his sanity (and safety).

Instead of thinking of a new plan, a new way to find stability (like he would have, back when he had still been by Bokuto’s side) (useful), Akaashi takes the shot offered to him by the sleazy looking man clad in leather and forgets all his problems.

♚

He slips up one night (he’s not sure when or what time it is, not anymore) and tells one of the singers at this new fancy club he’s been frequenting that Bokuto Koutarou, infamous crime-lord, the Owl, the unrivalled King of death and crime, dumped his sorry ass.

The man had _seemed_ sympathetic, with a handsome face and brown eyes filled with understanding. Akaashi thought he could trust him. Maybe it was the booze clouding his normally sound judgement? Maybe he was finally sick of playing the clown, the fool who partied and had gotten high and wasted _every single day_ since the day he was kicked out.

Or maybe they had been overheard?

He hadn’t been paying attention, not as much as he should have.

 _That hardly matters now_ , Akaashi winces as his head is slammed against the concrete, two burly men leaning their full body weight on him to make sure he doesn’t try to make a run for it (again) (one of them had the broken nose to prove it).

“I’ve been waiting for this,” A man Akaashi vaguely remembers (someone he had tortured under Bokuto’s orders in the past, maybe?) leans down and grips him roughly by the jaw. “You’re fair game now, Keiji.”

He reeks of cigar smoke, marijuana and whisky. Akaashi _would_ be repulsed if he wasn’t already immune to the smell.

“Well, I’m here. What now, big boy?” Akaashi throws in a wink for good measure, knowing that it’ll do nothing to help his situation and just piss this guy off more.

He’s right. 

The man laughs, lifts a ring-clad hand and delivers a painful slap across Akaashi’s face and it _stings_ , the metal cutting his fair skin and drawing blood. He sees stars and chokes back a whimper of pain, wondering when he’d become so weak.

It had been a long time since anyone had managed to land a hit on him. They were either too incompetent or too afraid.

Seeing that most of the city’s _competent_ gangsters were allied with Fukurodani one way or another, they had never tried to touch him. He was—ahem, _had_ —been Bokuto’s property, his starshine, his baby, the one person _nobody_ was allowed to touch.

He misses it.

Misses Bokuto.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” The man sneers, spitting in Akaashi’s face. _Yuck_. “Crying over a little slap, pretty bird?”

With horror and disgust at himself, Akaashi feels fat, salty tears rolling down his cheeks. The men surrounding him laugh, and there are catcalls about how hot he looks submissive on the ground, helpless, crying, and listing all the nasty things they’re going to do to him, how he’s going to _wish_ he were dead.

 _Too late_ , Akaashi thinks. _I already do._

The torture continues, a knife against his back, hands tearing through his skimpy clothing, angry kicks and punches littering his body, his thighs, blood dripping from his nose—

He feels himself slipping into unconsciousness from the pain.

Before he does, he catches a glimpse of unfamiliar black combat boots stepping into his line of vision, into the dirty alleyway, from afar.

 _What now?_ Akaashi gives in to the darkness.

♚

“Finally up?”

Akaashi winces, aching all over and covered in what feels like fresh bandages, cracking an eye open at the bright sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Ugh, his head was throbbing up a storm. Fuck booze. He was never drinking again (though he went back on his own word every time). Why have blinds, if you choose to keep them open anyway? What was the point?

His vision slowly pulls into focus and he is surprised, to see the singer at last night’s club standing before him, handsome face pulled into a concerned frown, manicured fingers plastered across his slim hips. His eyes drift downwards, and he sees black combat boots, tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor. _Ah._

“Never been better,” Akaashi finds himself smiling, in spite of his wounds and the pain. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

“You’re welcome.” The man hums, hovering over the bed and running a hand through his perfect coiffed locks.

“And what, pray tell, might be the name of my saviour?”

The man laughs at his words (Bokuto had always said he had a flair for the dramatic) ("You talk so nerdy sometimes, Keiji!"). His saviour's voice is gentle and tinkling, like wind chimes.

Akaashi likes it.

“Oikawa Tooru.”

♚

He finds a friend in Oikawa, the first friend he’s ever had since before joining the Fukurodani crime syndicate at the tender age of eleven.

It feels refreshing, grounding like he’s finally seized back some semblance of control over his chaotic life.

Bokuto had never _prohibited_ him from having friends, per se, Akaashi just had no reason to seek out additional companionship, his time having been fully occupied by guarding his master, being a lover, a confidante and _his special person_.

Well, all of that meant jack-shit now. Akaashi had been dumped, plain and simple. No explanation from the man who’d declared himself Akaashi’s best friend, the love of his life.

And it _sucked_.

Pretending to be okay was one thing, actually _feeling_ okay was another.

♚

After Oikawa had taken him in (no more sleeping on random rooftops or benches in the park, thank god), his life had gotten substantially better. A lot better, actually.

Even though he’s had to start wearing unflattering glasses to hide his identity, reducing the attention he attracted with his pretty face (“Not as pretty as me, though!”) (“You _wish_ , Tooru.”) and normal, modest clothing to hide the whacky owl-themed tattoos on his arms and legs (not to mention the tramp stamp on his lower back) ('PROPERTY OF B.K.'), Akaashi doesn’t complain.

Keeping a low profile and living undetected seemed a whole lot better than having to deal with the thirsty underworld bloodhounds trying to sniff him out, now that it was common knowledge that Akaashi was no longer under Bokuto’s protection.

He works for a friend of Oikawa’s now, named Sugawara, helping him maintain a decently-sized pet shop near the city, cleaning bird cages and brushing cute little puppies and kittens daily so their fur would remain clean, smooth and fluffy.

It was calming, and humbling.

Akaashi had never known life outside crime and working during the day hours had initially been unsettling. He’d taken to a nocturnal schedule, much like his former fellow Owls, night being the time when crime came alive to breathe in this corrupt city.

Day by day, he feels the madness slowly seeping away from him.

He gets better, now that his mind isn’t constantly marinated in a cocktail of drugs and alcohol, that he doesn’t have a new daily target to kill and maim on Fukurodani’s orders.

Akaashi develops new habits like making creative fruit smoothies for both Oikawa and him daily, growing small edible plants out of a little window box in the apartment balcony, earns a normal wage and pays his share of the rent every month.

He gets to know the little boy who lives downstairs, a quiet, sullen thing named Kageyama Tobio who’ll pick anybody’s pockets without a second’s hesitation. Akaashi makes him promise not to pickpocket Oikawa anymore (the last time had nearly ended in a brawl between his flatmate and the _child_ ) and instead teaches Kageyama how to fight and protect himself.

The day Kageyama is able to take him by surprise with a punch is the day Akaashi breaks into delighted, hysterical laughter (Kageyama is alarmed and offended) (“What’s so funny?”) and wonders how he’d gone from assassinating the children of opponent mafia dons to doting on an unwanted, abused boy from a nobody family.

It’s different, but Akaashi slowly grows to love his new life.

♚

“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” Akaashi sighs dramatically and ignores Konoha, who’s standing motionless, waiting for him in the alley behind his workplace. “What do you want?”

After eight fucking months of no contact, no answers from Fukurodani, after he _finally_ settles into his new life, they choose to show up _now_?

“Keiji,” Konoha begins, looking pained. “We need you back. Bokuto sent me.”

Akaashi flips him the bird (ha, bird? Get it?) (Owls!) and cackles, giving Konoha a practised pearly-white grin which is somewhat a cross between a smirk and a sneer.

“Tell him to _fuck off_.”

Then he leaves, slamming the door shut behind Konoha’s shocked face and... it feels _good_. The adrenaline is pumping through his veins and he is sweating, shocked at himself, but proud. He's never ever disobeyed an order form Bokuto. Not once, since he'd been sold off to the Fukurodani family and trained to live by Bokuto's side. 

It is a breakthrough and very welcome character development in the fuckery which had been his sad life, all these months, trying to get over the man he knew would be impossible to forget.

(He ignores the sinking feeling of guilt and regret later that night, wonders what Bokuto had finally wanted with him, after so long.)

♚

On New Year’s Eve, he’s walking Kageyama and himself back to the shabby apartment complex after going on a last-minute supply run (more booze and snacks) for Oikawa, having run out halfway through the party.

Kageyama is ranting about some weirdo new kid at his school (Hinata something?) who he’d gotten into a fight with when three huge black cars screech to a stop around them, blocking any path and possibility of them running (at least, not with an armful of groceries and a kid to watch, Akaashi thinks).

Akaashi sucks in a sharp breath, moving to keep Kageyama (who’s shaking with fear) shielded behind him, though it is impossible from all angles. The doors open and huge, hulking men step out, armed to the teeth and looking stone-cold, ready to kill.

“Akaashi-kun~”

He feels his heart dropping as he realises it is _not_ Fukurodani, not Bokuto who had finally hunted him down after he had ignored Konoha's message, and instead it is someone far, far worse.

Daishou Suguru saunters over before him and gives Akaashi a mock bow, cackling as he takes in the shabby state of his clothes and nerdy glasses.

It is a huge contrast to the way he used to dress, clad in revealing corsets, tights and booty shorts, decorated in glittering jewellery and sprawled across Bokuto’s lap, the definition of erotic.

Oikawa had remarked a while back that he resembled a librarian, nowadays, but that was a good thing so that nobody would recognise him. 

Akaashi wasn’t so sure that would help him anymore.

“I’ve finally found you!” Daishou looks absolutely delighted, clasping his hands together. “You’re a slippery one, Akaashi-kun! I’ll give you that!”

“Why, thank you,” Akaashi says sarcastically, holding Kageyama’s trembling hand tightly in his own. “Now what the fuck do you want, _snake_?”

Daishou winks at him.

“No need to be so cold! I just need a little favour. A special job for a special friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh, but don’t you wanna be?” Daishou pretends to be surprised. His fakery makes Akaashi want to kick him in the face. “I’m sure you could do with more friends right now, Akaashi-kun. You’re wanted across every family, every street gang, in this fine city. You’re basically a walking target at this point after Bokuto _threw you away_.”

Akaashi feels a guttural snarl emerging from the back of his throat.

How.

Fucking.

 _Dare_. _He_.

_How dare he use Bokuto's name against him?_

“Don’t get mad at me for stating the facts now,” Daishou chides him playfully, shifting his attention to Kageyama, who’s hidden partially behind Akaashi’s lithe body. “Now, how about it? Would you consider what I have to offer?”

Akaashi knows he could run, could leap over the hood of the nearest car and take off sprinting into the night, never looking back. 

He would have, months ago.

Now, he looks down at Kageyama’s terrified expression, and won’t.

He puts on the fakest smile he can muster, matching Daishou's.

“I’d love to hear all about it.”

♚

He’s taken to one of Nohebi’s warehouses, by the docks.

Akaashi remains fully cooperative since Kageyama is with him. He doesn’t give lip, obeys every command Daishou gives him, even leaning down to lick his expensive shoes, doing his best to ignore the sickening glee in the snake’s eyes and the embarrassment coiling in his gut.

“Kill Tetsurou for me, and I’ll make sure you live the peaceful life your little heart desires,” Is the deal is he offered, and so he takes it, not having much of a choice anyway.

Pain-in-the-ass Kuroo had always been Bokuto’s best bro, ever since Akaashi had been brought into the Fukurodani family as a child. Annoying as he was, Kuroo was smart, useful and meant a great deal to Bokuto, their strong friendship ensuring a continuous alliance between Fukurodani and Nekoma.

Akaashi suits up, strapping a katana longsword to his body ("Can't trust you with a gun, sorry!"), lacing up his boots and giving a teasing wink to the man eyeballing him not-so-subtly as he undresses in front of the Nohebi men and slides on the skimpy leather shorts Daishou had been so kind as to provide him with (he purposefully avoids looking at Kageyama’s mortified face).

He is released back onto the streets of Gotham and feels the bloodlust seeping back into his bones as he inhales the familiar scent of the night.

♚

Kuroo puts up one hell of a fight.

He won’t stop talking, too, which is annoying, has always been the most annoying part about pain-in-the-ass Kuroo. His big, fucking, yapping mouth.

“Bokuto’s been looking for you for months,” Is one such example of things Kuroo is saying that _really_ gets his blood boiling. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

He ducks the punch Kuroo aims for his gut and rolls out of the way, drawing the sword strapped to his back, already dirtied with the blood of the guards unfortunate enough to be on duty tonight.

“Nothing personal!” Akaashi feels the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he lunges at Kuroo, narrowly missing the Nekoma’s head (so fucking close!) and cutting through the fancy wallpaper behind him instead.

“Akaashi, _wait_ , listen to me—”

“ _No!_ ” Akaashi screams, losing his normally cheeky and aloof composure. He hasn’t felt this incensed in a long time. Who the fuck did they think they were? Throwing him aside like a piece of trash and then suddenly wanting him back after he’d found a life of his own?

How fucking dare they?

Akaashi lunges again and manages to get Kuroo in the arm, drawing blood. He twists his body, springing off the overturned desk and aims his sword to kill, to stab through Kuroo’s chest and end this ridiculous fight, his (hopefully) last ever assassination taking place on the first day of the new year—

He feels a sudden pain in his bicep before the familiar sound of a gunshot.

Falling back and clutching his now bleeding arm (just a graze) (thank fucking heavens for that), Akaashi peeks behind the desk he’s hiding behind, looking beyond the giant windows in Kuroo’s obnoxiously overly-decorated study.

He recognises that strong silhouette, the familiar width of those broad shoulders, those piercing golden eyes that always seemed to find him, glowing even in pitch-black darkness. 

Akaashi finds himself frozen in place, unable to move or even think of what to do next.

And that's how Kuroo manages to get the drop on him, delivering a well-executed roundhouse kick against his skull.

He falls onto the fancy carpeted floor, instantly blacking out, hating every minute of his dumb life.

♛

Bokuto woke up from his coma months ago, narrowly escaping death after a bullet entered his chest, a mere inch away from his heart.

When he woke up, clueless and confused, they told him everything. Lied to him. Took matters into their own hands, so fucking bold and arrogant, thinking they could command his family affairs without permission.

They told him Akaashi had been the one to do it.

They told him Akaashi shot him in the back.

They _lied_ to him.

How could it be true?

Akaashi would never betray him.

Akaashi was his person.

Akaashi was the love of his life.

Akaashi was beautiful.

Lived only for him, to serve him.

To love him.

 _They_ threw Akaashi out while he’d been dead to the world.

Threw him out onto the streets, with nothing but the clothes on his back, crying and screaming for Bokuto (according to Konoha, who’d delivered the news with his head bowed low, bleeding from the mouth, in repentance).

He also finds a text message sent to Akaashi’s number ages ago telling him to never return, that Bokuto didn’t want him anymore, that it was _over_.

Bokuto doesn't think he's ever been angrier in his life.

He _slaughters_ every single one of them, the rats amongst owls.

The rats who’d infiltrated his ranks die a slow, painful death.

The very last one, the dirty rat who’d been sent from Mujinzaka, bleeds out slowly from the throat for thirty minutes after Bokuto had broken every bone possible in his body, with nothing but his bare hands. He’d been screaming for death by the time Bokuto had finally taken pity on the sad sack of shit and stabbed him in the throat, which placates him, just a _little_ bit.

He wanted Akaashi back. So fucking bad.

His baby, his angel, his starshine.

The bed had been so _cold_ without him.

Akaashi had refused to come back, according to Konoha. Bokuto had been confused. Why had Akaashi refused him? Surely, after months of being alone, he’d come rushing back into his arms.

Just a night prior to Bokuto personally taking Akaashi back himself, by some stroke of luck, Akaashi comes to _him_. Well, not him exactly. For some weird reason, Akaashi decides to kill Kuroo and he saves his bro in the nick of time, distracting Akaashi long enough for Kuroo to knock him unconscious.

And now, Bokuto thinks he’ll sleep easy for the first time in ages, Akaashi’s beautiful body laid next to him on the bed, his pretty face calm and peaceful.

Kissing Akaashi’s neck and wrapping his arms around that slender waist (too slender, he thinks) (hasn’t he been eating properly?), Bokuto smiles and closes his eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Keiji.”

♚

Akaashi wakes up, in familiar arms.

He cries, knowing immediately who it is from the scent, the muscles, the warmth of his body. Bokuto is already awake, looking down at him with confused, worried golden eyes scanning every inch of him, hands rubbing up and down his back soothingly.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A kiss on his temple. “Does it hurt?”

He forgets what he was mad about.

Forgets how he’d been tossed to the curb, forsaken and forgotten.

Why had he ever thought he’d be able to leave this man’s side?

He nods, sobbing brokenly, burying his face in Bokuto’s chest despite the dull throb of anger and betrayal, greedily breathing in Bokuto’s familiar cologne and allowing Bokuto to rain bites and kisses down his neck, losing himself in the pleasure.

♚

“Fuck, Keiji, I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

Bokuto is crying, shoulders shaking as he continues to pound into Akaashi’s tight heat, leaning down to hide his broken expression in Akaashi’s neck.

Bokuto had been hurting too. 

Akaashi doesn't know if he is relieved or dismayed. 

He coos soft reassurances anyway, stroking Bokuto’s hair, loving the way it feels soft and smooth under his fingers (Bokuto only ever let his hair down around Akaashi) (only him).

“I’m here,” He flinches and yelps as Bokuto thrusts _hard_ , against the spot that makes him tremble uncontrollably with pleasure. “I’m not going anywhere, Koutarou.”

Bokuto suddenly snarls like the thought itself offends him and fucks Akaashi for hours into the bed, finally cumming deep in his ass. 

♚

Later, he sits sombrely in the bath as Bokuto shampoos his dirty hair, both their eyes red and puffy from crying, his own voice hoarse from screaming Bokuto’s name.

He listens to Bokuto’s explanation on why he’d been thrown out and forsaken, feels his heart ache, and his will waver, believing everything in an instant. He had been so strong, so sure of himself and his freedom only a day ago, so confident that he could have a go at life without Bokuto.

Akaashi knew now, just how much he was dependant on this man.

Knew he needed Bokuto to feel _whole_ , to fill the emptiness inside him.

Bokuto was the key to unlocking Akaashi’s madness, the reason Akaashi killed and fought and enjoyed breaking bones, hearing his prey scream.

And, even if he _was_ ashamed now to finally admit it, Akaashi couldn't imagine ever living without Bokuto again.

♚

“Don't leave me,” Bokuto pants in his ear, hands gripping his hips tight enough to bruise. “You’re mine, Keiji. Only mine.”

Akaashi whines in agreement, toes curling, spreading his legs wider and seeing stars as Bokuto pounds relentlessly into him.

“I’m yours,” He kisses Bokuto, keening as he is lifted into strong arms and against the wall, screaming and sobbing because it feels so good, so amazing, so full. “ _Koutarou_.”

Akaashi drifts slowly into sleep naked, covered in sweat and come, to the smell of Bokuto's favourite cigarette and the sound of his voice giving instructions to their men over the phone.

♚

The next day, Akaashi tells him why he’d attacked Kuroo. Explains Daishou’s plot as neutrally as possible, doesn’t miss the way Bokuto’s eye twitches in anger and the manic smile on his handsome, which hints at a thirst for blood.

After lunch (Bokuto had the chef make his favourites) (yummy), they get into Bokuto’s Lamborghini and speed their way across the city, to where Daishou had been keeping Kageyama hostage. Akaashi fiddles with his fingers nervously, brow furrowed and worries about what Kageyama will think when he shows up with the biggest crime lord in the city. Would he even be happy to see Akaashi?

Pulling up next to the enormous warehouse, Akaashi tries—and fails—not to smile as Bokuto practically _leaps_ over the hood of his car and extends a gentlemanly hand for Akaashi to take as he steps out. 

Sliding his hand into Bokuto’s, he allows himself to be lifted out of the leather seat and into Bokuto’s arms.

They move towards the entrance, flanked by only the best of Fukurodani’s men.

♞

Kageyama has been kept watered and allowed to use the bathroom twice a day, since his capture.

It had been two days, without a bite to eat, and he is _starving_ (he’d gone longer without food, though) (his parents hadn’t bothered to fed him since he’d turned twelve a year ago).

Kageyama thinks of the meat buns and hamburgers he’d shared with Akaashi every evening after the man got home from work, curling up together on the couch and watching Adventure Time on Netflix, ignoring Oikawa’s whining about wanting to watch romantic comedies instead.

He makes a wish to a god, _any_ god out there, wishes that Akaashi comes to get him soon because he is hungry and sick of staring at the bored faces of the thugs left behind by their boss to keep an eye on him (like he could run anywhere tied up like a mongrel), to wait for Akaashi to come back from his ‘mission’.

The doors _explode_ open and Kageyama gets his wish, sooner than expected.

He watches with wonder and admiration as Akaashi _tears_ through the henchman with his sword, moving gracefully and impossibly fast, killing and cutting his way to reach Kageyama.

Akaashi is grinning and speckled with fresh blood, kneeling down to where they’d tied him against a metal pipe, sword cutting through the thick ropes like butter.

“About time,” Kageyama grumbles and leaps into Akaashi’s waiting arms, squeezing the older male tightly and enjoying the feeling of Akaashi’s gentle (but strong) fingers running comfortingly through his matted black hair.

Akaashi lifts him into his arms and takes him out of the warehouse (in the midst of an execution) (victory to the Owls, of course), to safety.

♚

Akaashi eventually remembers to call Oikawa and tells him both he and Kageyama are safe.

He endures a solid thirty minutes of his flatmate screaming in his ear (he was pretty impressed with the threats Oikawa posed) (“Make a _what_ with my balls, Tooru?”) before hanging up and telling Washio, who’d been standing guard nearby, to go get Oikawa and bring him here.

Kageyama is freshly showered and enjoying a feast of pasta, pizza and steaks in their largest guest bedroom, watching cartoons on the giant flatscreen TV. 

The boy’s eyes had popped open with amazement at the luxury he was being treated to, breaking Akaashi’s heart just a little when Kageyama had doubted himself before stepping over to the food clearly laid out for him as if asking for permission.

They’re halfway through the second season of Courage the Cowardly Dog when there’s a knock on the door, and Bokuto steps in grinning, dressed in a fresh button-up shirt (the other one had been dirtied with the blood of snakes).

“Hey, angel. Mind if we join you?” To his surprise and Kageyama’s horror, a boy with wild orange hair steps in behind Bokuto (“Say hi to Hinata, my new protégé!”), looking curious—then equally horrified as he realises who the boy sitting on the guest bed is.

“YOU!” They both scream, pointing at each other, then Kageyama starts choking on the mouthful of pasta he’d been in the middle of slurping down and Akaashi thumps him heavily on the back, causing the boy to spray bits of noodle all over his front.

Nice, real nice.

He ignores Bokuto and Hinata’s howling laughter and grumbles the entire way to the bathroom, but feels his chest warming anyway at this newfound sense of domesticity with Bokuto, in Fukurodani, of all places.

It feels like home.

♚

The temporary bliss comes to an end when his friends have to leave.

Bokuto doesn’t allow Akaashi to go with them, which comes as no surprise.

They fight about this anyway, after Oikawa and Kageyama say their goodbyes, that they’re returning home, to the apartment complex, despite Akaashi insisting they stay under Fukurodani’s protection (they didn't need protection) (just a wild, desperate attempt to keep them from leaving him). 

“I have a life, Keiji,” Oikawa says, almost regretfully, squeezing his hand tightly. They're both trying not to cry. “I can’t just leave everything behind.”

Akaashi knows.

He does, too. He has a life here, with Bokuto. 

The life he'd been groomed to live.

He tries to deny it, kicking and screaming as Bokuto pins him to their bed and does his best to ignore the heartbroken, almost betrayed expression on the man’s face.

“You can’t leave me. I won’t let you go.” Bokuto says, his firm voice leaving no room for argument, and Akaashi sobs brokenly. 

Akaashi knows. He already knows.

♚

The following days are tense, between the two of them.

Even as business resumes as per normal and Akaashi is led around the town to be paraded by Bokuto’s side in the form of a very public announcement that he was _not_ to be touched, that he was off-limits, Akaashi feels detached to everything happening around him.

One night, Bokuto tracks down the gang who’d tortured him outside the club where Oikawa worked and makes a very public display of executing them, laughing as the man who’d spat in Akaashi’s face begs for mercy.

“Did you show _him_ mercy? The night you laid your filthy hands on him?”

The man’s grovelling lasts thirty more seconds before Bokuto draws his pistol and shoots him twice in each leg, once in the gut and finally, one last time in the chest.

♚

They’re back at _Lapis_ , one of the clubs the Fukurodani family owns.

Akaashi is dressed in a sexy, black bareback top that ties into a cute bow behind his neck with tight leather shorts, high out of his fucking mind on drugs and booze while dancing on a podium in the middle of the dancefloor. He kicks up a leg high in the air and wraps his thigh over the pole, showcasing the expensive gold Versace sneakers Bokuto had gifted him with upon his return.

The audience whistles and cheers in approval, under Bokuto’s watchful eye, as he speaks to another man hidden by the translucent silk curtains surrounding the lounge.

He dances and dances, laughing at nothing and seeing the colours of the club mesh into kaleidoscope patterns until he hears a whistle, calling him to Bokuto’s side.

“You called, Koutarou?” The guards part for him like Moses and the red sea. He slinks over the back of the velvet sofa and slides into Bokuto’s waiting arms, purring contentedly as hands roam over his bare skin, his thighs. The drugs amplify the sensations and it feels amazing. Lets him forget everything else, forget Oikawa's regretful expression and Kageyama's crestfallen face—

“Good to see you again, Akaashi-kun~”

He tenses, slowly turning to look over his shoulder, at the man Bokuto had been speaking to.

Daishou Suguru.

He feels his blood turning cold.

“Daishou and I were just discussing some deals which would be beneficial for the family, Keiji baby,” Bokuto begins, taking a sip of brandy. “He told me he was only trying to help you, back when you were... alone.”

“I was trying to give him protection,” Daishou nods along in agreement, signature smile plastered wide across his face. “Gave him a job! You know how this business goes, Bokuto. And the bad blood between Nekoma and Nohebi has nothing to do with Fukurodani.”

 _Wrong_ , Akaashi thinks. _Kuroo_ is _Fukurodani's business_. Why was Daishou so stupid? Akaashi could see through his pathetic in-control businessman façade in a second. He had obviously been forced here, the blood on his suit and ripped sleeve a tell-tale sign. There weren’t any Nohebi men with him, either.

So why was Bokuto doing this?

Akaashi swallows thickly, turning his attention back to Bokuto and kissing down his neck in an attempt to distract him.

It works, if only for a minute, as they make out feverishly, uncaring of the guards around them, uncaring of Daishou, who is staring wide-eyed as the King and Queen of crime moan and lick and grope before him. Bokuto's hands undo his top, allowing the black fabric to slide off his smooth skin, running his hands over the tattoo marking Akaashi as _his_ on his lower back. 

Bokuto laughs as he spots Daishou’s erection and pushes Akaashi gently away.

“He’s really pretty, isn’t he?” Bokuto praises, patting his hip.

“He is.” Daishou concedes, smiling again, eyes roaming Akaashi’s exposed chest, finally landing on his pert ass. Akaashi feels Bokuto tensing under him and finally figures out what Bokuto wants.

What he _needs_ , to close this chapter of uncertainty and doubt in their relationship.

“Then you can have him,” Bokuto pats his thigh and Akaashi stands, making his way over to Daishou and sliding onto the snake’s lap, giving the Nohebi don the must seductive expression he can muster, licking his lips. “As a thank you for your efforts, I’ll lend him to you. Just for tonight.”

Immediately (foolishly) Daishou’s hands come to rest lightly on his back, looking almost in awe at the brand new toy he’d just been bestowed with. Akaashi leans down and presses his already kiss-swollen lips to Daishou’s, massaging them sensually with his own and coaxing the snake into opening his mouth (a fatal mistake).

Their tongues dance as they grind against each other under the dim lights of the club and over the throbbing bass of the music.

Akaashi and Daishou both feel a presence approaching behind them and pause, Akaashi already knowing Bokuto’s plan and breaking away from the kiss to hide his gleeful smile in the crook of Daishou’s neck.

He smells like aftershave, cologne, wine and… _fear_.

It takes all of Akaashi’s willpower not to burst out into giggles right then and there.

Daishou starts to sweat, sensing something off.

“How does he taste?” Bokuto asks Daishou conversationally. “Is this reward enough for your efforts? I can’t thank you enough for trying to keep him safe, now can I?”

“You know… I don’t think this is necessary after all,” Daishou clears his throat uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“What? You don’t want me?” Akaashi huffs and pushes himself off Daishou’s trembling thighs. “Don’t waste my time then.”

He crosses his arms and pretends to pout, making a show of angrily flopping down onto the sofa for good measure.

“Isn’t he good enough for you?” Bokuto frowns, shaking his head. “Rude of you to turn down such a precious gift, isn't it, Akaashi? You're the most precious person to me in this world, after all.”

Akaashi feels himself preen at Bokuto's words, knowing them to be sincere, despite the game they were playing with their prey. This was Bokuto's way of showing affection, by making grand declarations to their victims before killing them. Showing his possessiveness over Akaashi's person and reminding the world that nobody, _absolutely fucking nobody_ , but Bokuto was allowed to touch him. An important rule Daishou had forgotten, consumed by greed and lust, like the fool he was.

He is reminded of the extent to which Bokuto would go for him and feels the doubts about their relationship, about his status in the family, which had festered like mould in his heart the past year, vanish in an instant.

He loves Bokuto.

Bokuto is everything.

He belongs to Bokuto.

And Bokuto belonged to him.

Akaashi wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Bokuto shoots Daishou in the head before he gets the chance to scream and Akaashi and Bokuto burst into laughter, a screeching, hooting, hysterical laughter which unsettles everyone around them.

They fuck on the sofa, opposite Daishou’s lifeless body.

Akaashi leans back, breathless, on Bokuto’s sweaty, panting chest and smiles, feeling the warmth of Bokuto’s semen dripping from his abused hole.

“Feeling better?” He asks, his hands resting over Bokuto’s, the taller man’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Absolutely.”

♛♚

Akaashi and Bokuto drive through the deserted streets of the city, laughing. 

Their hands intertwine and they exchange glances, revelling in the madness, in each other. 

"Forever," Akaashi whispers. He leans over and kisses Bokuto on the lips, which is reciprocated immediately (then stop after Bokuto swerves, narrowly missing a lamppost) (they giggle about it anyway).

They drive and drive, and don't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day...?  
> i love daishou, honest, i'm sorry he was the scapegoat in this one  
> hope you liked this aaaaaaaa

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wicked games.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756278) by [baby345](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby345/pseuds/baby345)




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